Twinkie Treachery
by Let The Foxx Fly
Summary: There's one lesson we can all learn from this: never mess with a man when he is going through Twinkie withdrawals.


**Just an amusing idea that's been playing at my mind lately. Enjoy.**

A line of sweat was furrowed along his brow, forehead creased with thought. Frown lines were plastered onto his face; his eye twitched. Tallahassee was in none other but a horrible mood. It had been over seventy-two hours since the group had found the golden stash of yet-to-expire Twinkies in the abandoned Hostess truck off the side of a nameless highway in Florida. And, as hard as it may be to believe, there were no more Twinkies remaining to be eaten, for Tallahassee had scoffed the whole stash down within the blink of an eye.

Typical Tallahassee, but the results were quite undesirable. Especially for the group of Columbus, Wichita and Little Rock, who had no choice but to sit by and feel the wrath of Tallahassee's withdrawal from the Twinkies. They never even knew there was such a thing as Twinkie withdrawal until the very moment when Tallahassee ate the final Twinkie. Most likely the final Twinkie on the planet, since whatever ones were left would be expired and the specialist Twinkie chef, counting the odds, is most likely a zombie. The help such a chef could provide in the situation was highly doubtful.

It was twenty-seven minutes past five in the afternoon and Columbus, being Columbus, could no longer stand it. He had heard Tallahassee use the word _fuck _in so many different contexts that he was now unsure of what the word truly meant. "Just let him get over it," said Wichita, but Columbus had cracked. Although could you blame him? How could one possibly stand by whilst Tallahassee raged over no more Twinkies with a loaded bolt-action rifle in each hand? _Anyone_ would be shitting themselves.

"Fucking calm down!" Columbus screeched at Tallahassee, storming into the room. With a torn flannelette shirt, faded jeans and bare feet, he was far past being exhausted. He felt as if he wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again, as it was sleep he loved, but that wouldn't be happening as long as Tallahassee was making a mess of the place.

"I will if you can find me a fucking Twinkie!" Tallahassee yelled back whilst flipping the couch belonging to the abandoned duplex up and over, willing any remnant of the delicious cream-filled treat to make an appearance.

Columbus combed through his hair with his fingers helplessly, staring blankly as Tallahassee tore through every inch of fabric keeping the old couch together, unsure of what to do. He sensed Wichita and Little Rock enter the room from behind him, but they were smart enough to keep their distance. Tallahassee reached for his revolver that had been chucked carelessly onto the floor. He flicked the safety off and pointed it straight towards Columbus.

He was quick to drop to the floor, Columbus, as Tallahassee's finger 'slipped', pulling the trigger. "If somebody doesn't get me a fucking Twinkie and puts it inside my fucking mouth right now, someone is going to get hurt!" he roared.

"Tallahassee, listen to me," pleaded Wichita. "We'll find some more Twinkies, okay?"

"No!" Came Tallahassee with an aggravated scream, swinging the gun around towards her as he shot carelessly at the wall mere inches to her right.

"Shit, Tallahassee!" swore Wichita, grabbing Little Rock and ducking quickly around the corner, peeking back around in time to see Tallahassee chuck his revolver at the wall only to have it rebound back and hit him hard on his side, only enraging him more.

A sudden veil of silence fell over the room, everyone staring at Tallahassee as he stopped short of his frustrated scream. A look of confusion contorted into his features as he bent down; brushing away the thick pieces of a vase he broke earlier, only to reveal an empty Twinkie packet hidden underneath. Tallahassee knew for a fact that the packet did not belong to a Twinkie he had eaten which only meant one thing: someone else had eaten one of _his _Twinkies.

This was absolutely outrageous, preposterous even. Tallahassee had been completely and utterly betrayed. That one Twinkie, that one final Twinkie could have been his for the eating. Yet someone else ate it. Anger fumed through him as he slowly turned towards the others, a look of pure evil daring the culprit to admit themself shamelessly. He looked to Little Rock as she stared him down defiantly. No, he knew she had not eaten the Twinkie. That would have been unlike her. Then his gaze moved over to Wichita, a smirk plastered on her face, disguising her evident fear of Tallahassee and the revolver he had loaded lying by his foot. Whether it was the flicker of a smile or something in her eyes, Tallahassee just knew she did not eat the Twinkie.

Of course, it was Columbus. Who else could have possibly eaten his Twinkie? That stupid, ignorant little piece of lanky shit; Columbus. Tallahassee watched Columbus with curiosity, testing to see how long he would take to admit his awful crime. After minutes of staring, Tallahassee opened his mouth.

"Fuck. You." He said profoundly, before slowly picking up his neglected revolver from the ground and firmly aiming it straight towards Columbus' head. Columbus flinched. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you here and now for eating my Twinkie."

"It's just a treat-" Columbus attempted to explain.

"Don't you dare feed me any of the bullshit." Tallahassee flicked the safety off.

"Tallahassee!" Wichita screeched. "Calm your tits, man. You're taking this too far. It's just one little Twinkie."

"You, shut up and stop sticking up for your crap fuck of a boyfriend," Tallahassee said, addressing Wichita, then turned back to Columbus. "Now, again, give me one good reason why I shouldn't pull this goddamn trigger."

"Be- because," Columbus stuttered, then stopped, rephrasing whatever he was going to say. "Look, Tallahassee, kill me, but that isn't going to give you back your fucking Twinkie."

"Oh, so you do admit to eating my Twinkie then?"

"Ah shit- I- No."

Then Tallahassee pulled the trigger with the gun aimed to the side of Columbus' shoulder. The force pushed Columbus back with a cry and a splatter of blood sprayed onto the already torn couch. "Get of your ass, it's just a flesh wound. You'll survive," said Tallahassee indifferently.

"What the fuck was that for?" cried Columbus.

"For being a fucking dick," Tallahassee called back as he walked out from the room, leaving a whimpering Columbus and a distraught Wichita in his wake, and a smirk pasted cosily upon his lips.


End file.
